


Ballad Under The Moons Light

by FoxyTurttle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:08:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyTurttle/pseuds/FoxyTurttle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The strangest things happen under Cybertron's twin moons. Sometimes you even get to rediscover someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballad Under The Moons Light

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up in the middle of the night with this idea, then got back asleep. When I awoke again, the idea was still there, stubbornly waiting to be written. I bascially spent my sunday writing this.  
> So now get my headcanon for this couple!

"I truly wonder how you do it, My Lord."

The voice had come out of nowhere. Or, more exactly, it had come out of the shroud of shadows said lord was immersed in, isolating himself from the ramboctious festivities of his latest and grandest victories. Yet, the mech did not stir. He might have tensed upon hearing it, but, before any actions could be followed, the familiar accent had been recognized.

"What do you refer to, Shockwave?", he asked in a relaxed tone. "My capacity to make cities fall? Putting Praxus, the stonghold of Autobot culture, at my feet? Or are you surprised by my tranquillity? The fact that I don't partake in the overwhelming emotion of victory with the rest of my troops?"

"Neither, My Lord", the spy silently approached, positionning himself by his sides. "Your military strategies are sound, far more superior than the Autobot defenses. There is no doubt in that area. As for your isolation", the cyclop made a gesture towards the fallen Praxian Institute of Science, from whose lights they were shielded by a stubborn Crystal bush - one of the few that had survived the raid. "I cannot fault you for it when I came here for precisely the same reason." He turned his gaze straight to his superior's. "I was inquiring about your ability to summon troops. To push them into battle so readily. My apologies," he bowed gently. "I realize now how confusing it must have been coming straight out of my reverie."

Music, though muffled by the night air, could still be distinctly heard. They listened to it in the silence that followed.

In that odd spell one was put under, when darkness engulfed the body and music the senses, time seemed to slow down and Megatron was able to observe his lieutenant at leisure.

He was a startling one to say the least. Not only did he stand out by his features - or lack thereof - and the complete control he seemed to exerce at all time on his body, but his own capacities were many and tended to verge on perfection. His intellect was the most notable, but the warlord had learned since that his physical abilities could not be contested. Furthermore, in a sea of coarse individuals, he was polite, precise and quick, his tarnian accent smoothing over any metaphorical circuits he might have ruffled with this behaviour.

If Shockwave was wondering about his oratorial abilities, Megatron often wondered how he managed to attract such a fellow to his cause. The warlord might have taken up a worthwhile mission he doubted idealistic views (he was seeing that more and more now) and mere charisma would have convinced someone like the spy to join his ranks. 

Still, the cyclop followed his command without a problem, only speaking up to give new information or point out flaws - always polite, always precise, that smooth accent making it impossible to get mad at him -, furthering the cause like few did. And never ceasing to look up to the warlord. Megatron swore he sometimes saw a twinge of adoration in that single optic. 

Perhaps he _had_ put Shockwave under his spell.

 _'Or perhaps the "cold fragger" isn't as emotionless as some might think'_ , the warlord thought with certain amusement.

Starscream did _not_ like the spy. He made it loudly and publicly known, saying to whomever wanted to know - and most of the time they didn't have a choice anyway - how sparkless the cyclop was, how he had removed his emotional system and was nothing more than a highly advanced drone, and other things of the sort - all believeable in the light of Shockwave's attitude and somehow confirmed by the spy's lack of denial. Either way, it became common knowledge among Decepticon ranks.

Megatron did not care. As long as the job was done, and done well, he had no interest in what someone might be and how true it was. Even less so if it came from his Second-in-Command's whiny voice, bent on getting rid of one of the few followers that knew what they were doing. Either it was true and he had acquired the loyalty of a very useful drone, or Starscream was lying once again and would probably get shot at some point. Both options were beneficial.

That, however, proved to be a bit of a mistake. In free reign of continuing his attempts but not getting anywhere with them, Starscream decided to push it a step further. He started spreading rumours. Lab experiments, memory alterations and forceful reformats where suddenly the spy's prized hobbies. The jet even started a rather disturbing rumour about a minibot fetish: how Shockwave would lure them into dark corners and whisk them away, never to be seen before. Not alive, at least. He spoke of cages, and unmentionnable toys, and unhealthy obsessions, sprinkling in any ingredient that would put the cyclop under the light of a psychopath.

It is around that time that Megatron started caring. Having under hand a large army, he was perfectly aware some of his soldiers would have a couple of screws loose and he accepted that. The idea of a highly intelligent psychopath roaming the officers' section, however, was worrying and he took it upon himself to keep an optic on the spy.

Though, by the time the minibot rumour appeared, he was well and truly dubious of Starscream's claims.

Not only were they contradictions - perverted glee from someone without an emotional system seemed quite impossible -, but the warlord had supervised the dormant agent project: all the dismissed candidates, every minibot, were still accounted for and in good health - if they hadn't died in battle. Furthermore, the chosen agent, a lovely little femme going by the name of Flipsides, had showed no signs of abuse, nor of memory alterations (mysterious fatigue, tics, a development of irrational fears and behaviours) in the _very_ long span of time she had spent with Shockwave.

Megatron would have even said she enjoyed his presence with how openly she smiled up at him. Or how she had once declared in a giggle, upon being asked about the rumours, that "he wouldn't need to use any of those ploys to get me to follow him". Or even the sadness that had seeped from her as they bid farewell. Shockwave had been stoic as ever, though it seemed to the warlord that the light pat he gave to her head was an indulgence, his optic almost soft.

The ex-gladiator paid much more attention to his spy's antics afterwards. He didn't see much: a subtle flash of the optic, a twitch of the talon, a slight flick of the antenna. Little details that hinted to a certain range of emotional responses without actually confirming any. Nothing to get a real glimpse as to who Shockwave was.

Until tonight.

Now, reminiscing what little he knew of his lieutenant, in a stretch of time that would have been far too long in silence but became comfortably numb as the music filled its void, he was able to witness the mech under the spy.

A talon placed on the broken fountain by his side, Shockwave stood in an elegant but relaxed posture. His dimmed optic gazed towards Cybertron's twin moons, harboring a dreamy state. His antennas finished the look as they loosely fell backwards, as if not paying attention to the world around him anymore. He looked almost picturesque in the lights of the moons, finally noticeable as the warlord's optics got used to the obscurity.

It struck Megatron that this was probably what the cyclop naturally looked like. He thought of the imprecise nature of the spy's inquiry and realized he never had had an actual conversation with his subordinate. Strategy meetings, information updates, yes, but no words that stepped outside of their own responsibilities, no situation where precisions and efficiency was not the requirement. For the first time in the many vorns they had worked together, Megatron was able to glimpse who Shockwave was when away from the military conventions, away from the pressure of winning a battle... away from any judgemental optics.

And he was nothing like those optics had portrayed him.

It is unclear how long they stayed like this, the spy savouring a rare moment of calm and the warlord feeling stangely humbled by the sight, both engulfed by the muffled sounds of the party near them, but their trance was finally broken by a sudden shift in the music. 

Before it, the music had been boisterous, rudimentary and cheerful. Now it was slow, elegant and complex. Completely out of place in an army celebration.

"It would seem they have found the Dean's music collection", Shockwave quietly said. And it almost sounded like he was chuckling.

Something overtook Megatron then. A whimsical idea that made complete sense in this odd situation. And before he knew it he was offering his hand and saying:

"Would you care for a dance?"

The spy blinked at him in surprise, his whole body coming back to attention. Then he tilted his head in curiosity and his optic narrowed just slightly, as if trying to decipher his lord's intentions.

"I am not a good dancer", he declared simply. Not flatly, thought. Not in his usual dismissive tone. And his talons made their way into the warlord's hand.

It was enough for Megatron.

"Do not worry, I am very good at leading", he said as he pulled his subordinate closer to him. Not touching but close enough to be in each other's private space. A hand on the spy's hip, the other still holding the claws he was given. Talons made their way to his shoulder.

"Yes, I know." A flash of that single optic, looking up at him for further instructions. "I was asking about it earlier." 

He sounded amused.

 _'Dry humour'_ , Megatron mused. _'I really am discovering a lot tonight.'_

From anyone else, it might have sounded like insubordination. Or at least over-familiarity. But just like Shockwave was able to criticize his superiors without crossing them, it seemed he had the ability to crack a joke without forgetting his place. It was all in the tone. And the voice. That smooth, accented voice.

So his superior only gave him a smirk and started guiding him to the rythm of _Ballad Under The Moons Light_ by Beatwheels.

The spy may not be a good dancer but, just like he was good at following orders, he was at following footsteps. They turned and side-stepped in fluid, graceful movements, soon re-establishing that numbness of sense they had experienced earlier.

"Elocution, speech and purpose", Megatron suddenly spoke up, still guiding his subordinate around.

"My Lord?", Shockwave asked, optic blinking out the remnants of the trance he had been put under.

"You asked me how I got my troops ready for battle. Elocution, speech and purpose, that is how."

He received another curious tilt of the head. The idiosyncrasy was fast becoming endearing. "I'm afraid I will have to ask you to expand, My Lord", the cyclop said.

Megatron gently made him twirl.

"Elocution", he said as they resumed their initial position, "as you probably know, is the way one speaks. I make a point to speak in a very recognizable manner when I deliver speeches, so that my troops know when to listen and how to grasp every single word of mine."

"Mmmh... In other terms, you condition them with your voice", the spy murmured. "Very clever."

"I had a feeling you'd understand the notion", the warlord couldn't help but tease. 

Another tilt of the head, narrowing of the optic. The cyclop looked more coy than guarded this time. Almost impertinent. "Is that so?", he played of his voice again.

Definitly impertinent. Yet, the amused optic spoke more of a jest than of actual rudeness: he was perfectly aware of the hinted accusation and had no business hiding it from his Lord. He merely followed suite on the lightness Megatron made of the situation.

Strange mix of individuality and obedience. Self-confidence and humility.

"Speech, I understand, can be misleading", the warlord went on, refusing to be taken aback by his spy. Refusing to break this comfortable back and forth of wittiness. "I do not mean it as in the speeches I deliver, but as in the words I deliver my speeches in. My vocabulary is not meant to make me appear superior, my voice has that role. I use a common register to be understood by everyone in my troops, but also as to not belittle them."

"And it is far easier to fight for a peer than a superior", the spy commented, a dash of impressed coloring his voice. "I could not do that. I am far too attached to my vocabulary."

"I cannot blame you. It _is_ a lovely vocabulary." The flirt had come out naturally, rolling off his glossa like fine high grade, yet he found himself stunned by his boldness.

Shockwave's optic flashed up at him once more. No more ambiguity there, he was now clearly surprised, bordering on amused. It seemed that he was at much at a loss than his superior was.

"Purpose", the ex-gladiator went on, as he twirled the spy once more to get his contenance back, "is a little more abstract but much more important." He followed the music in silence for a bit, mulling over his next words. "It is one thing to defend a cause, it is another to _have_ a cause", he finally said.

"You mean you need to believe in what you do?", the cyclop inquired. No dubiousness, no teasing. Just curiosity.

"Not exactly", the warlord replied. "It is more that the cause has to somehow become your own. I have mobilized an army to thwart the Autobot oppression, to make this world a better place for everybot, but the goal I have, the purpose it stems from, is my own will _not_ to bend my back to those who have denied me my freedom." The warlord had started calmly enough, but the end of his sentence was finished in a gentle snarl, emotions taking over for the briefest moment. Realizing that, he offered his spy a rueful smile. "I am afraid, Shockwave, that I am not above selfish intentions. Yet it is that personal offense which fuels me."

What he saw then would stay with him forever. Instead of surprise, or some form of dissapointment, the optic widened and curiosity bloomed into admiration. For the second time that night, the warlord felt humbled by what he could only call a privilege: to be witness of the inner thoughts of someone as private as the spy, but, more so, to be the recipient of it. 

"What about yours?", the ex-gladiator asked. He thought his voice strangely breathless. "What is _your_ purpose among the Decepticons?"

A surprised blink, then the cyclop looked aside, thoughtful. They turned and sidestepped, turned and sidestepped.

"Let us just say, My Lord", Shockwave finally murmured. "That I have my own personal offenses against the Autobots and...would rather not have it repeated." He sounded a little bitter, somewhat sad.

In a very lucid moment, Megatron wondered _whom_ Shockwave had lost to the Autobots, and so sure was he of his supposition that he opened his mouth to ask the spy just that.

Then, in a screeching noise, the record stopped. Voices erupted from the other side of the bush, soon drown in the cheerful beat that had accompanied them for most of the night.

"It would seem they had had enough of Beatwheels", Shockwave commented flatly. "I am actually surprised they left it for as long as they did."

"I don't know...", Megatron mused. "It is in my personal experience that people are attracted to culture when it is accessible to them. I would think that most of them were quite enchanted by such finely crafted melodies."

The spy tilted his head in that now trademark way of his. "Personal experience, My Lord?"

"I am but a gladiator of origin", he smiled at his subordinate. "My anger may have fueled me, but it is the knowledge I stumbled upon, and then craved, that made me capable of sharing my ideals."

For an instant, that admiration was back, but it was quickly gone in favour of a self-conscious glance down. Megatron followed his gaze and noticed they were still in each other's arms, still a distance from one another but now, the appropriate music being absent, uncomfortably close. Awkwardly, they distanced themselves, talons falling from a shoulder, hand letting go of a hip. Fingers extricating themselves...

At the very last second, the warlord grabbed back the talons he had held, some odd wish not to let go seizing him.

A single optic gazed down at their joined hands, then it looked up to him in that familiar tilt of the head.

Incapable to give his subordinate a plausible explanation, Megatron let his primal programming take over and used acts instead of words: a whimsical thought had once more surfaced in his mind anyway.

Bending down gracefully, his lips found the back of his spy's talons. "Thank you for this pleasant evening", he said, looking up.

Shockwave stared, bewildered by it all. Then, something racked his body: a quick exhale of air that could only be interpreted as a laugh.

"A dancer, a philosopher, an autodidact and now a gentlemech. I am truly discovering a great deal of you tonight", he breathed out.

Megatron could do nothing more than smile.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE A SILLY FLUFFY PIECE OF THEM DANCING AND THEN I GOT CARRIED AWAY.  
> I fully admit it: I totally indulged myself towards the end X3
> 
> And I kinda got driven by the utter sadness I get when I see that 90% of fics about Shockwave are non-con/dub-con. Everyone is entitled to their characterisations but why must it basically be the ONLY one ;A; So have my little drop in the ocean.


End file.
